That Other Place

In “Re-Composing Space,” Binkley and Smith argue that Composition Studies has become a biased and exclusionary field, by privileging Western discourse as the preferred rhetorical mode, against which all other rhetorical traditions are compared and often found lacking in some aspects. The authors see this problem as a result of a geopolitical dominance of Ancient Greek rhetorics, itself also a prejudiced and exclusionary system, in the West that leaves out everyone who does not share this common historical, social and ideological frame of reference (2006: 1). Adopting a postmodernist stance, Binkley and Smith set out to deconstruct Composition Studies as a “spatially specific and time constrained” field that tends to follow the Western rhetorical framework and, under an appearance of democracy, excludes those who do not fit into the dominant discourse (2006: 2).

According to the authors, instead of focusing on an equalizing analysis and discussion of/between different rhetorical modes, Composition Studies still seems to function under the pretense that Western discourse is in some ways superior to other cultural discourses. This guiding pretense comes, Binkley and Smith argue, from the “origin narrative” of rhetoric and composition, Athenian rhetoric, which was in itself politically, socially and culturally prejudiced, as only a small group of citizens met the requirements necessary for their voices to be heard and valued (2006: 4), and also failed to recognize the existence of previous rhetorical modes such as those of the Sophists and of civilizations like China and Egypt – dubbed as pre/proto-rhetorical (2006: 3). The suspicion with which those who did not fit into the political, social and rhetorical requisites of the Athenian agora were regarded has been redirected nowadays, according to the authors, towards every type of cultural discourse that presents alternatives to the dominant framework (2006: 3).

However, the problem does not seem to be the predominance of Western discourse so much as it is its unproblematic and unquestioned acceptance by the academic community, that tends to regard rhetoric as a natural, static concept instead of seeing it as a social construct and, therefore, “a flawed and partial world view” that is permeable to social and political change and must, then, be examined within and across a specific time and place (2006: 4). This becomes even more complicated when we put it in the context of higher education, as students are forced into an either/or paradigm where they must conform to the dominant discourse or be barred from further education (2006: 4), a paradigm that is never explicitly acknowledged but is implicit in the pedagogical approaches to composition taken by most American university professors.

Appropriating Foucault’s concept of heterotopia, Binkley and Smith see Composition Studies as an extension of Greek rhetoric and politics, a “dual illusion” of democracy that “masks the Eurocentric, alphabetic dependent, gendered, and ethnocentric basis of its formation” (2006: 5). Although the authors explain in some detail what a heterotopia can be and make a good case for the underlying problems of Composition Studies, I was not entirely convinced with their appropriation of the term, as they seem to convey a negativity that is not present in the original concept. Foucault’s heterotopia is essentially a place of difference – another place, a “counterspace,” – not a place of bad difference or attempt to mask difference. In fact, according to his explanation in “Of Other Spaces” (1986), a heterotopia functions as a sort of a mirror that reflects and inverts reality, thus allowing us to perceive it more critically. The concept of heterotopia is complex and rather messy, but it allows for all sorts of variations, which can be positive or negative, isolating or interactional, and always different and fragmentary. If anything, I believe this uncomplicated and equalizing, yet deeply exclusionary visage of Composition Studies resembles more a utopian, or even dystopian, discourse than a heterotopia.

As it stands now, Composition Studies does not appear to be a suitable medium for the study of non-Western rhetorical practices, as it remains a “regional-spatial interpretation of knowledge” that does not seem to acknowledge and is, therefore, not applicable to spaces outside this specific discourse. Not only is there no acknowledgement of their unique discourse, there seems to be also no acknowledgement of their existence, as these other spaces often stay on the margin of the main discourse, and lack the means to promote their own discussions and participate outside their own rhetorical sphere (2006: 5). Adding to the classical rhetorical tradition is what the authors call an implied ethical superiority of alphabetic cultures and the monolingualism of American composition, which further promote the exclusion of non-conforming discourses (2006: 6). In face of this situation, how can we go about integrating these different spaces/rhetorics within Western discourse (is it even desirable)? How can we change Composition Studies so that it really becomes the democratic system it appears to be? Can these other rhetorical spaces be the heterotopias Binkley and Smith were talking about?

Through the Postcolonial Glass and What Bronwyn Found There

In his essay, Bronwyn T. Williams examines his experience teaching in a multicultural class and the problems in dealing with the diversity of social, cultural and rhetorical practices. He attributes the difficulty of reconciling different ideologies and practices to the predominance of a postcolonial mentality, equating himself, the professor and symbol of authority, with the oppressive force of Western tradition, and the students with the colonial minorities who must adopt and adapt to the dominant framework, often losing their authorial voices and consequently undermining the agency, authenticity and comprehensibility of their texts (595). Later on, Williams refers to these students/colonial subjects as treading “hybrid spaces,” places where the colonial Other can develop his/her own cultural-rhetorical voice without having to be subjugated to the dominant discourse of the West (604).

An individual’s discourse is largely shaped by the culture they are born into and the cultures with which they come into contact throughout their lives. For this reason, it is impossible to speak of identity without a study of the way they perceive and express themselves, their culture and the cultures around them. The problem seems to be, however, that ideological assumptions of superiority tend to establish comparative power relationships where one group is always better than the other and its identity worthier of preservation and dissemination. Williams represents this conflict very well by inserting it into the academic environment, one which tends to become more and more diverse, as educational and economic endeavors allow students from all over the world to gather together in the same classroom with the same purpose: to learn. But even here one sees the beginning of the cultural conflict. Does learning have the same meaning in every culture? Is it performed in the same way? Hardly. And when faced with a multiplicity of unfulfilled expectations – the professor’s, who will try to enforce the system he was schooled in, the one he knows best, and the students’, who are faced with completely new interpretations of concepts such as knowledge, discourse, rhetoric, ownership – communication tends to crumble under the limitations of each one’s differing realities (589). In this context, there is an attempt to assimilate – or indoctrinate, as Williams puts it (590) – the students, i.e. the cultural minority, into the dominant discourse, i.e. the Western cultural-rhetorical tradition (588). This often leads to either/both mimicry or/and resistance to the imposing rhetoric, that is an attempt to comply with the “new rules” of the discursive game that falls short of being an accurate imitation due to the permanence of, conscious or unconscious, signs of struggle to maintain one’s original framework of reference (591-592). Drawing on Bhabha’s work, Williams refers to these presences as “partial,” as they do not fit into the traditional mold and become, thus, a potentially subversive threat (592).

I found Williams’s pedagogic approach of having students draw from their personal experiences to write at the academic level rather interesting, as I expected that this would have a positive effect on the students’ rhetorical development. Much like the author, I believed, as I read the essay, that drawing from one’s own experience would make the students feel empowered as valuable cultural agents whose voices were being heard (592). But, like the author, I realized that I was being led down a rabbit hole by my own biased Western assumption that the writer’s personal background gives authority and credibility to his/her work, which is not the reality for every culture, as Chakrit and Neka’s examples show (593-594; 596). Having students write about their experiences actually seemed to do more harm than good, as they were being forced to conform to a rhetorical framework they were not familiar with and, for this reason, their texts portrayed none of the agency and authenticity Williams had aimed for (595). They became, therefore, “Others” on the margin of the dominant culture (603).

My perception was constrained by the ideological framework in which I was raised. I was wrong. But I was not alone, as Williams admits to taking an incorrect approach with his students and not being fully able to create the sort of educational and rhetorical environment needed to generate a fruitful discourse among different practices (599). Williams does not try to justify his mistake, nor does he apologize for it. Instead, he uses it as fuel for change, calling, not just for a deeper analysis and understanding of postcolonial minorities as hybrid and fluid constructs, whose identities and practices are shaped by their attempts to either/both appropriate or/and resist the dominant tradition of the West, but, above all, for a reconsideration of his own role, and every other professor’s role for that matter, as an educator and consequently a figure of power and authority (604-605). By emphasizing the need for self-interrogation and self-examination, Williams, it seems to me, is asking for a reassessment of Western discourse and ideology and their self-assumed superiority. Indeed, this essay seems to stress out the need for an equalizing discourse, a place for the discussion of difference that does not rely on the binaries of colonizer/colonized, superior/inferior, and instead attempts to engage and negotiate one’s place in the global discourse (605).

Williams ends his essay with an analysis of his students/colonial subjects as hybrid individuals whose identities are formed by the confluence of multiple cultural spaces, thus challenging discursive boundaries (603). As someone whose academic interests often veer into the Science Fiction genre, I am used to the term “hybridity” meaning a question about self-identification that is mostly left unanswered, individuals whose identity is frequently equated with fragmentation and isolation. In this case, however, the hybrid is pictured as both a question and an answer, a space where fragmentation and instability do not equal an identity crisis, but instead propel discussion and self-affirmation (604). In the context of Williams’s classroom experiment, hybridity appears to be a positive thing. And yet, it seems that there is still a void between the recognition of such hybridity and actually embracing its discourse as valid. A framework of thought that bridges the gap between the dominant tradition and the hybrid minorities has yet to be proposed. How can we go about doing this? Can these hybrid discourses ever truly flourish on their own terms, without outside manipulation of their concepts and ideas? Or should the majority adapt to accommodate these fluid rhetorics?